Chapter Four #3
I nodded, heading out the back door while they followed.
Orange flagstones covered the patio which was surrounded by plants and flowers.
Several patients sat outside under an awning at picnic tables while visiting with family and guests.
Some were in wheelchairs. Other folk were eating or laughing.
A couple of people were being pushed around the rose garden by uniformed nurses.
The air was scented with the sweet, old-fashioned rose fragrance while ceiling fans with wide blades moved the air around so it wasn’t so damn hot.
Mom sat in a chair under a huge, covered gazebo at the back of the property. She held small barbells and was doing chair calisthenics, while Mrs. Moss stood at the front of the large group smiling in an encouraging way as she demonstrated.
Mom glanced up at me as I came over to her, stopping to squat beside her chair.
As usual, she was beautiful and still youthful despite the toll her disease had taken on her.
Her cheeks were rosy and her forehead glistened with sweat as she looked at me for a few seconds.
The vacant stare in her eyes told me that today was going to be one of those days when she wouldn’t know who I was.
“Hello,” she said, stopping her arm movements.
I reached out, setting my hand on her forearm and giving it a little squeeze. “Hi, Mom.”
“Who are you?”
I swallowed down the lump in my throat. “It’s Cam…Camden, Mom. Do you recognize me?” I felt my heart squeezing in pain as she slowly shook her head. The way her gaze traveled over my face, showing no sign of recognition, was heartbreaking.
“Camden? That’s a pretty name. Do we know each other?”
I nodded, squeezing her arm again. “I’m your son, Camden.” I took the barbells out of her hands, setting them on the flagstones.
She nodded, but the vacant expression in her eyes remained.
“You look familiar, but I don’t think I have a son anymore.
” When her expression suddenly turned sad, my heart hurt.
“I did have a son a long time ago. His name was…” Her words trailed off and her eyebrows drew together as she tried to remember. “I think I had a son a long time ago.”
I heard someone shuffle on the wooden boards behind me and then a hand landed softly on my shoulder. Mom looked up just before I did. I stood to my full height as Mars squeezed my shoulder. I cleared my throat. “Mom, these are my friends, Mars and Mickey.”
She smiled, looking up at the two agents. “Hello.”
“’Ello, Mrs. Demarco,” Mars said, holding out a hand.
His voice didn’t hold the normal growly tone I’d become accustomed to.
He spoke softly and kindly as she took his hand.
I watched as her delicate fingers were swallowed up by his much larger mitt and he instantly covered their clasp with his other hand. “It’s so nice to meet Cam’s mum.”
She nodded blankly.
“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” Mickey said, reaching out to take her hand as Mars let go and stepped back.
“Hello.”
It made me sad to hear her short, clipped greetings.
Before the illness, she’d always been bubbly, speaking a mile a minute as she cooked or cleaned or sat in the living room with me as we ate ice cream watching her favorite, the Great British Baking Show.
She attempted the recipes the contestants made, laughing as she set a lopsided cake on the table.
It tasted amazing, though. Her attempt at bread had been laughable when it didn’t rise because she forgot to add the yeast. We’d laughed about that until tears ran down her sweet face.
I got a lump in my throat as I watched her interact with Mars and Mickey.
My heart hurt for what was happening to her.
The music at the front of the room suddenly shut off, and I turned to see Mrs. Moss wiping her forehead with a towel as the patients began rolling their wheelchairs over to the rack for the barbells. I glanced back at my mom. “Your class is finished.”
“Oh.” She turned to look at Mrs. Moss before looking back at me.
I cleared my throat. “I brought you something, Mom.” I reached into the plastic bag and dug out the Orioles cap, yanking off the price tag before squatting down beside her.
I held it out to show her. For a second—just a split second—a flare of recognition lit her eyes.
“The Orioles are our favorite baseball team, Mom,” I said, hopefully. “We used to watch games together.”
She took the cap from me, turning it over and over in her hands before she looked up.
When she reached out and cupped my cheek the way she used to, I felt tears burning behind my eyes.
I was deciding whether it was recognition in her expression when she suddenly dropped her hand. “This is a nice gift. Thank you.”
I nodded, swallowing back my tears and clearing my throat to get rid of the lump.
“You’re welcome, Mom.” I reached for the cap.
“Here, let me adjust it.” She handed it back, and I made the adjustments before leaning close and slipping it onto her head.
The blank expression that stared back from her confused eyes, almost did me in.
She suddenly smiled and reached for my hand. “Thank you so much.”
I took her slender fingers in both hands, noticing the light scent of Coco Chanel, her favorite perfume, as I leaned in and bussed the side of her cheek.
“Love you, Mom.” I leaned back, searching her eyes for recognition.
When none came, I cleared my throat again.
“Will you let me walk you back to your room?”
“Oh.” She stood on shaky legs as I took her hand, sliding her arm into the crook of my elbow. “Thank you.”
We turned and walked slowly out of the gazebo, down the path toward the back of the building. As we did, I struggled to hold back tears. Crying in front of her would only freak her out.
I was freaking out enough for both of us.